


Blood and Thorns

by Ennarcia



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fae Magic, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29759394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ennarcia/pseuds/Ennarcia
Summary: You fall in love with a boy who lives outside the woods - a beautiful, otherworldly boy with wild hair and smiles that rival the sun.A sort of re-telling of Panderegla's fic, "Blood and Bone, Love and Hunger", from Therion's point of view.
Relationships: Alfyn Greengrass/Therion
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Blood and Thorns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [panderegla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/panderegla/gifts).



> WARNING: This fic is a re-telling/POV Swap of Panderegla's 'Blood and Bone, Love and Hunger' fic. You should REALLY read their fic before you read this one.
> 
> Disclaimer 1: Although I have permission to make this, Panderegla was not involved in the creative process of it, and thus this is non-canon to their fic.  
> Disclaimer 2: In the original fic, the unknown of whether Therion loved Alfyn back or just wanted to eat him and was playing a long con is kinda pivotal to the story. This fic is in Therion's POV. If it's possible to still make it ambiguous, I sure as hell don't know how, so I had to pick one.
> 
> This is the writing equivalent to making fanart of the Mona Lisa, but after that fic haunted me so, I had to put my feelings to writing and scream them to life. Hope you like it Panderegla.

Honestly, the boy looks odd. He _should_ look odd. His skin is smooth like a river washed stone, and the color is far too pale. His hair is the color of honey wheat and wilder than hair has any right to be, but doesn’t quite conceal the fact that his horns are missing. You almost don’t believe him to be real.

Yet, as he stares at you with big doe eyes that are richer than the earth, your heart feels strange in your chest. You want to look at him forever and ever. You know you can’t, not with tears on his face and a bleeding gash on his knee.

It occurs to you that, despite having your fair share of falls and scrapes, you have no idea how to fix them yourself. You must go to your father, and you tell the boy as such, but he keeps staring at you as if you hadn’t said a word. 

You try to tell him again and he still doesn’t seem to understand you, but when you offer a tiny hand, he smiles like the sun and takes it. His hand has a gentle warmth to it, like nothing you’ve ever felt before. You call for the forest, far wiser than you, and ask it for aid. 

It does not take you to your father, like you wanted. Instead it takes you both to the clearing at the forests’ edge, which your father has instructed you never go to. It would be dangerous if you wandered out, after all.

Yet the other child cheerfully tries to do just that. He looks back at you when he feels the tug of you not moving with him. 

“Come on, let’s go!” He says, like it’s not madness spewing from his lips, and gives you another tug.

You dig in your heels and shake your head, refusing to go no matter how much he urges you to, no matter how much you _want_ to, if that’s where he is going. Eventually he gives up and leaves the clearing without you, ignoring your desperate pleas for him to stop as if he doesn’t hear you at all.

You’re inconsolable after. Big fat tears rush down your face and make a small stream at your feet, and the forest panics as it exhausts its options. It tries to show you fun things to play with, offers you your favorite apples, tells you your father will arrive soon, but nothing works, for all you want is the boy who is surely gone forever.

Until he is not. The forest quiets when it announces to you that he has returned, and you hastily wipe the tears away, rushing to meet him in the clearing. His smile is even more captivating now that you thought you had lost him, and he has even brought you a present!

You approach the present cautiously, like it and the boy will disappear if you’re not careful. You tug at the string and slowly unwrap the boy’s offering, to find a bleeding cut of raw meat in the center.

You look at him, asking if he truly wants you to eat this, and he merely stares back at you, expectant. You don’t know what else to do, so you eat. You’ve had meat before, but this is not an animal you’ve ever tasted. Honestly, it’s not that great, but for him you eat every bite, wiping the blood away from your lips when you’re done.

The boy has watched you the entire time, but when you’re finished, he stumbles backwards. Towards the forest’s exit, towards danger. You will not let him make the same mistake again, you decide, and stalk towards him, telling him he should stay in the forest. You reach out a hesitant hand as you add that, perhaps, just maybe… he could stay with _you_.

Then you’re recoiling as you notice the poisonous flowers on his clothes. For the second time today, you believe him to be mad, but nothing comes of it as your father arrives, snatching you up before you can blink.

The forest calls him the Prince, but to you he is merely Aeber. Names are special to you, never to be spoken to anyone besides your beloved, the one you trust the most. Except he knows your name because he gave it to you, and you know his because you are his most precious of treasures.

You get your looks from him, but his horns are far more intricate than your tiny twigs, showing off his age, while his hair looks like it has been spun from silver, rather than your head of snow white.

He has not brought the boy with him and you complain petulantly, but he merely tilts his head in puzzlement, eyes concealed by a golden mask. He merely dropped the boy off at his home, he tells you, which you accept with a childish huff. If the other boy has a home then he is safe, even if it means he can not be with you.

Your father thinks it’s funny, laughing at you and calling you cute, saying that you’re in _love_. You’re too young to understand what love is, really, but you wouldn’t mind this boy knowing your name, you say. You’d certainly like to know his.

You say it with childish innocence, but your father gets serious, then, and offers you a stern warning. You are, under no circumstance, to tell the boy your name first. He is not like the both of you, he says. You don’t quite understand, but your father seems like he’d get very angry if you disagreed, so you nod your head and promise him you won’t.

You cuddle closer to your father then, noticing that he is warm like the boy. Except they are not quite the same. Aeber is warm like a searing hot flame, albeit one that would never hurt _you_ , while the boy’s warmth was far gentler. You miss him, and to appease you, your father promises he will tell the boy to come and play with you soon.

The next day finds you watching the clearing, filled with a childish hope that the boy will come. You don’t know if your father kept his promise to you, but the boy arrives regardless, as if he could sense how much you want to see him. As if _he_ wanted to see _you_. He smiles at you with that radiant smile of his and holds out his hand. An invitation to play, you think. 

You walk to him, drawn like a moth to a flame, and only hesitate briefly to check for the poisonous flowers he had yesterday. When there are none, you entwine your fingers and note that they seem to fit oh so perfectly together. His gentle warmth spreads into your palm, and you’d like to hold his hand for the rest of your lives, if you could. Even if that’s not possible, you can still hold his hand until you are done playing, if he allows it.

So you lead him farther into the forest, your home. You show him all kinds of things, like your favorite mushrooms to jump on, and the strange blue grass that your mother smashes into medicine, but he never asks to stop and do anything, seemingly content to walk with you, grip on your hand never loosening. At some point your other friends find you, hiding behind the trees and giggling. You tell him about them too, about the girls who love to dance and the other who talks to beasts. About the girls who run around with a blue flame that causes creatures to glow in the darkness. You know the boy can talk, but he never says anything in response to your words, making you wonder if he even hears you.

Eventually, you feel yourself tugged backwards as he stops. He’s tired and wants to see his mother. He wants you to take him home. You don’t understand. All of you were having so much fun, and it hasn’t been that long at all. Your hand tightens around his, you don’t want to let go, but once again, the traitorous forest ignores what you want and you end up in the clearing.

Your friends all turn back now that playtime is over, but you watch the boy until he leaves, watching the spot you last saw him even longer. You told him to come play again and you hope he will listen. When you all gather together the next day to wait for him, he does not come, nor the day after that. None of you understand why he is not coming, until you ask your father and he shakes his head in disappointment. Time passes differently for all of you, and you had played with the boy for far too long. His parents must have been dreadfully worried about him, your father says, and you feel just a little bit guilty about it.

\---

You’re older now. You’ve gotten taller and your horns more intricate, the thorns on your skin are sharper than before. More importantly, you can now survive leaving the forest. Not for very long, even with the help of the moon, full and bright among the stars, but you _can_. Which means you can finally wander out to find the boy who has taken over your thoughts for years.

It takes you multiple trips into the village, and when you finally find him you feel like an idiot, as he sleeps in the house you specifically avoided because of the poisonous flowers growing out front. Why he likes them so much you can not fathom, and it is his only flaw, besides the fact that he doesn’t seem to understand you. You’re still not sure if he wasn’t just ignoring you back then. Like you he is older now, but you know it is him, the wild hair unmistakable. He looks peaceful, asleep in his bed, and you’d like to be closer to him, but there is some kind of invisible _thing_ in his window, like thin ice but not quite. You think it is possible to open the window and pass what is stopping you, but an iron latch lay still upon it, threatening you. Also, oddly enough, a line of salt that you wonder the purpose of. A snack for the beasts? Does he hate snails? Some odd tradition you don’t understand?

He does not awaken to give you answers, and as you grow weaker and know you must leave, you tell him to come see you. He doesn’t, but that doesn’t stop you from returning when the moon is full again, watching him for hours, wishing you had just a little more time. Sometimes you see him across the tree bridge, and you call to him then, too. You beg and you plead but he doesn’t seem to hear you. 

You continue to call for him regardless, and one day, when the leaves go red and the forest prepares for a long rest, your efforts bear fruit. The forest goes quiet like it did that day so long ago, when he had offered you a gift, and tells you he has come.

You’ve watched him sleep in his bed and seen him gather herbs across the tree bridge, but you haven’t had the chance to really see him up close yet. The scrawny little thing you used to know is gone, replaced by a broad chest and strong arms. As you wonder how much else of him has changed, he reaches into the satchel at his side and pulls out a wrapped package. You watch intently as he steps forward to lay the offering before you then steps just as many back. You know what it is immediately from the smell, and because you wouldn’t dare forget a single moment you’ve spent with him. Even if it was a terrible gift.

The way he is smiling at you almost makes you eat it again, but you stand firm, holding the gift out for him and telling him he doesn’t need to bring you something to visit. His presence is enough. You don’t know if he understands you or not, but slowly, he reaches out to take it back. Your fingers brush against his and although he doesn’t react, you know that even he has to feel the heat that spreads from the moment of contact, that both boils and freezes your blood at the same time.

He seems embarrassed, after, but your eyes are drawn to the poisonous flowers as he crushes them. You watch the crumbled remains fall to the ground and fight back a grin. You almost fail, when his warmth seeps into your palm and your fingers intertwine after so many years apart, but if he ever saw such a goofy expression on your face you’d surely die on the spot.

You don’t take him back to your village, like you had when you were a child. You know you don’t have long with him, and you are selfish. Your friends would eat up all of your time together, so instead you show him parts of the forest that humans never go.

You show him mushrooms that are far tastier than the meat he tried to give you, and rapids so loud you can’t hear yourself think. You show him where you and your friends like to swim when it is warm, where the little fish hide, and even the owls who will undoubtedly tell the huntress about this.

He is not like you, steps clunky and loud despite himself, and it is obvious he does not yet belong here. The resting forest wakes beneath his feet, and is grumpy to be disturbed. It doesn’t want him here, but it tolerates him, because he makes _you_ happy. It irritates you, that he seems to understand this, or perhaps you just didn’t have as long as you had hoped, and he tells you he must go.

Your heart aches at the thought of parting from him, but you are a child no longer, and you dutifully lead him home this time. His parting smile isn’t nearly enough to sate you, and just as you had as a child, you find yourself pleading for him to stay. It really comes as no surprise that he doesn’t hear your desperate voice.

You visit the clearing every day, hoping he will come. It’s torture when he does not appear, worry seeping in and fear taking hold. Fear that you have once again taken him for too long, and he will never return to you. His return is a soothing balm to your heart, and you clutch his hand like he will disappear again should you let go.

You’ve accepted that he is unable to understand you when you speak to him, but you can still understand him and you are grateful, as he has begun to speak whenever you spend time together.

He tells you about a life you will never understand as you walk, as you sit together and take breaks by streams. You watch him with rapt attention, and grow jealous of friends he calls by name. Humans throw around their names so carelessly, yet he hasn’t told you his. You wonder if he knows how special they are to you, or if it’s just what you hope.

Regardless, or maybe because of this, you grow bolder in your attempts to woo him. You show off your skills and take things from his satchel without his notice, then watch his eyes sparkle as you show him your pilfered prize. He tells you of his work, and how he concocts medicine for the ill, so you take him to places your mother has told you of. You had no interest in learning her craft before, but the information is valuable now all the same. He appreciates the access to plants that are rare where he lives, though you wish the tools he brandishes were not made of iron.

Sometimes, he will try to touch you somewhere that is not your hand and your thorns will prick him, and you realize just how fragile he is. While you are grateful this encourages him to hold your hand instead, you can not help but feel bitter that it also means he will not embrace you. You wonder what it would be like, to be more like him. To live where he lives. To be able to _be_ with him for more than a few short minutes at a time.

The day the forest falls asleep along with the first sign of snow, he brings you another gift. It’s a long strip of cloth in a shade of deep purple that you love. It’s a much nicer gift than the meat, certainly. There is a shine in his eyes as he twirls it around your neck, and you can’t help but feel like it’s an incredibly intimate moment. He tells you the gift is to keep you warm, and it does remind you of his own gentle warmth. You’re never going to take it off, you decide, and he seems to appreciate it, as you take your now traditional stroll.

When it is over, his hand lingers in yours for a moment, and you dare to let yourself wonder if he’ll stay, if he feels as you do. Instead he says goodbye as he always does, and you watch him depart with an ache in your heart.

You find yourself clutching at the gift he gave you more often than not, and search for something to give to him in return. You look at and reject a great many things, until the glittering of gold catches your eye. A golden axe tied to your father’s belt. Swiping it from him is no easy task, and he laughs at you every time you fail, but eventually you are triumphant. Whether this is by luck or your father’s pity you care not.

You wait for him, golden axe in hand, but he does not come. You briefly wonder if you accidentally took him for too long last time, but it can not be so. You’ve been oh so careful to never make that mistake again, but no matter how long you wait, he does not come. Your heart aches more for him than it does anything else, and eventually you just can’t take it anymore.

If he will not come to you, then you will go to him, even if the moon is not full overhead. You visit him every night, for so long your bones ache and your breath becomes short. Your feet are heavy when you are forced to return home, and you leave tracks in your wake. You are too exhausted to visit the clearing to wait after such nights, but your friends are loyal enough to check for you. They see him across the tree bridge, wiping away the evidence of your visits. A small, ugly thought that he no longer wishes to see you makes itself at home in your mind, but you couldn’t stop visiting him even if you tried. Whether he knows or not, he has taken your heart and devoured it whole.

It is with great relief, then, that one night you find the latch that has threatened you for so long undone. He knows you come to see him and is inviting you in, he must be. There is no other explanation for the desperate way he throws the window open when he notices you, the way he guides you inside and looks at you like you are water during a draught.

For once, your roles are reversed. He is the one who belongs here and you are the outsider. You feel self consciousness prickling at your insides, but not enough to stop you from throwing caution to the wind and closing the distance between you. If he can not understand your words then you will use your actions, pressing your lips together. You’ve sometimes seen other humans do this, when they thought they were alone in the forest, and in his village when you come to visit. They acted like they were couples, and the way he laughs into your lips tells you that you were right, even if he proceeds to show you how it’s actually done.

He unwinds his gift from your neck and doesn’t stop there. Every place he touches you has his warmth linger, and he smiles at you through the lengthy process of making you come utterly undone. It’s one of the few things that you have in common between you, but he seems so much more knowledgeable about it than you. You think back to his stories of his friends, how he knows their names and they know his; despite knowing that it’s _different_ , in the moment it fills you with red hot jealousy. You mark him without thinking, staking your claim even if he doesn’t seem to notice.

No matter how many times your horns get in the way or how many times your thorns prick at him, he does not stop. He holds you close to him, just like you’ve always wanted, and you feel his heart beat in tandem with yours as you watch the sky awaken into dawn.

You refuse to move until he has fallen asleep beneath you, breathing even and peaceful. Gathering your clothes is difficult when you are this weak, and as you fall against the windowsill, no strength left to move, you become aware that you won’t be making it back. Your hand clutches at the gift around your neck. The only mistake you’ve made is not staying in his arms.

You manage to lift your head at the startled gasp, seeing his mother in his doorway. There is terror in her eyes, despite you smiling at her, and in the next moment you’re being snatched through the window in an all too familiar way.

Your parents are more furious with you than they’ve ever been before, scolding you like you’re a child of no more than three winters again. Your devotion they once found cute, a reminder of their own youth, now horrifies them. Even the forest is against you, sending you in endless circles every time you try to leave it. It’s not fair! All you want is to be with him! You want to hold him close to you without drawing his blood, to awaken next to him in the mornings and greet his mother without her looking at you as if you’re going to eat them both! You’d rather eat that apple pie thing he speaks so highly of, and whatever cornbread is! You want to know his name and for him to know yours!

You withdraw in on yourself, refusing to speak to anyone who comes to see you. You have grown to hate the forest. It says it loves you and yet it refuses to let you leave, tying you to itself so strongly that you’ll die outside of it. It was once something you simply knew as a part of your life, but now you see it for the curse that it is. You cling to the gift he gave you, even as it offers you none of the warmth it once did. You wonder what he is doing. Does he think of you? Does he miss you?

Eventually your parents calm from their immediate panic of your near death, and they look at you with pity. They convince the forest to let you stay in the clearing. The forest will still stop you from leaving, but at least you can watch for him. You can not live his life, it is impossible for you, but he can live yours, your parents promise. Of course, none of that matters if he does not return to you.

You wait and you wait, watching the tree bridge and clutching his gift like it will summon him to you. You do not know if it truly worked or not, merely that you finally see him and that’s all you care about. He passes into the clearing pale and gaunt, and you know he has suffered as you have. You hurry to meet him halfway, and when you finally do it’s like the first sight of sunlight after days of darkness. Your hands reach for the warm of his and when you feel them against yours, it feels like the solace you’ve been searching for.

You reach out and touch the mark you made, not truly having time to appreciate it before. It suits him, you think, and your heart swells with pride at the site of it, but nearly stops at what comes next.

“I’m yours,” he says, and he tells you his name.

_Alfyn_. It’s a wonderful name that fits him perfectly, and the pure _bliss_ knowing it brings you has you breaking out into a grin you can’t control.

You tell him your name in turn, whispering it between you, and despite him never hearing you before, his eyes flash in understanding. If this is only some kind of fluke, if he never understands you again for the rest of your lives, you are okay with that.

He closes his eyes as you lean forward, as you hold him tightly and dig your nails into his skin. You accidentally prick his lips as you try to press them together in welcome, causing him to flinch, but in the next moment he is relaxing into you. Soon it will not matter, because this boy you have loved from the start loves you in turn, and now nothing can stop you from being together.

**Author's Note:**

> -shrivels up and dies-


End file.
